37. DIANA #2
His words sink in like hooks and tug me back, exactly as he intended.
“Don’t lie. It was best for you. Not me. You wouldn’t have cared if you had yoked me to a monster if it got you what you wanted.”
A cruel smile tweaks at Dad’s mouth, and my stomach lurches.
Wherever he’s going next, I know I won’t like it.
“Rafe Bastion. That’s who you were with.
Knew I recognised him. What did a man like him want with a girl like you?
” His eyes narrow. “Is that how you’ve been making your money? Selling yourself?”
His words are barbed, but I don’t recoil, forcing my voice to stay level. “Are you angry because I have money that didn’t come from you, or because I was with a man you didn’t choose?”
A self-satisfied sneer mars Dad’s face. “I saw him with another woman.”
Heat roars to the surface of my skin, but I don’t rise to the bait, turning instead to Sylvie. “I’m going now. Have a great dinner.”
“A very pretty woman,” Dad continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “Impressive. Successful. Melanie Castow. She runs the Castow Agency.”
“Great. That’s nice,” I snap, intending to push past Dad, but he grips my elbow, changing tack when he doesn’t get the reaction he was expecting.
“You should settle down like your sister.” Dad’s tone shifts from lecturing to taunting.
“But who would have you? A man like Rafe Bastion would never take you seriously, not in the long term, just like Seb Hawkston never would have if it hadn’t been for me.
Men like that don’t choose girls like you. Not without an incentive.”
I grit my teeth, yank free of Dad’s hold, and shove past him, my shoulder catching Mum’s as I pass, but I don’t give a fuck if I knock her over and trample her to the floor. She’s spent her life down there anyway, and never once tried to get up to protect me.
“Rafe Bastion’s a rich man,” Dad calls out.
“And you owe me, Diana. Tit for tat. You ruined my deal with the Hawkstons. Make it up to me. Convince him to give me the money I lost on the deal you ruined, and all will be forgiven.” My jaw drops, but Dad continues.
“I saw the way he looked at you. Like he’d do anything for you.
He’d give you the money like that”—he snaps his fingers in my face—“wouldn’t he? ”
“Who’s Rafe Bastion?” asks Dave, shoving a mouthful of crisps into his mouth and watching the family drama unfold from his seat on the sofa like it’s a Netflix show.
“I am not your whore to pimp out,” I say to Dad, but my voice sounds fragile. “I never was, and I never will be.”
He gives a lazy shrug. “Just a whore, then.”
My hand tingles, ready to lash out and slap him, and my chest swells with a scream.
My body is alive with the need to lose my ever-loving shit and direct it straight at my father, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
He’d only call me menstrual or hysterical or crazy.
The black sheep of the family. The one who never does what she’s told.
“Dad,” squeaks Sylvie. “Be nice. Diana came all this way—”
“Antonio, really,” Mum says to Dad, but the reprimand is shamefully quiet.
I am determined to get out of here in one piece, so I keep moving towards the door.
“Running away again, Diana?”
For some reason, this is what unleashes the tightly held ball of anger inside me. It’s been building for years, and now, finally, it explodes, tendrils of heat spilling through me uncontrolled.
“What’s wrong with you?” My voice is a near screech.
“Why can’t you let me go? Why can’t you let either of us go?
” I gesture to include Sylvie. “You think she’s going to be happy in this marriage?
With some man you chose? Fuck that, Dad.
Why would you want your kids to be miserable?
Why wouldn’t you want us to have our own lives?
Why would you want to control every fucking aspect of our future? ”
Sylvie covers her mouth with both hands, muffling whatever frightened sound she’s making. Mum puts her arm around her, hugging her tight. They’re looking at me like I’m a crazed animal.
I’ve taken it too far; I know it, but I can’t back down now.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Sylvie, but my voice is still vibrating with anger, and I don’t sound sorry at all. “But it’s true. He’ll never let go if you don’t cut him loose.” I face Dad. “I don’t need you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. I never want to see you again.”
Fury propels my steps as I hurtle towards the door, rushing out into the hallway beyond, down the stairs and out onto the street.
It’s bleak out here; cold and dark. I’m not dressed properly, and the short leather jacket does little to keep out the chill.
For a few seconds, the heat of my ungrounded anger, still swirling red about me, does the job, but the bitter wind strips it away bit by bit, leaving me exposed.
I pull on gloves and tighten my scarf around my neck, but my stupid Erica Lefroy shoes have no insulation.
They’re party shoes, not winter boots. I wanted to look good for my sister; to put on a show.
Look at me, I don’t need this flat in St James’, because I have a career and sparkly Erica Lefroy shoes.
It all seems so vacuous. So pitiful. So pointless.